


The Eighth Operative (Book #1 of The Solidarity Cycle)

by KewonaWolf (DestinyWolfe)



Category: Original Work, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - fandom, The Solidarity Cycle, The Solidarity Cycle - Kewona Wolf
Genre: Action, Action/Adventure, Adventure, Alternate Universe - Space, Asexual Character, Bisexual Character, Budding Romance, Detectives, Epic Friendship, Epic Love, Falling In Love, Female John Watson, Female Sherlock Holmes, Genderbending, Genetic Engineering, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Female Character, Lesbian Character, Lesbians, Lesbians in Space, Love, Martial Arts, Multi, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Original Character(s), Outer Space, Science Fiction, Slow Burn, Space Battles, Space Detectives, Space Opera, Space Ships, and, basically everyone is gay, scifi, space, space lesbians, space travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-31 10:24:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10897395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DestinyWolfe/pseuds/KewonaWolf
Summary: Haunted by her past and ready for a new life, Dr. Hale Rivera accepts a teaching position at Republic University and Academy, an organization that trains interstellar military and police forces. There, she meets the eccentric Sharlet Knight, a graduate student with a massive IQ and an even bigger secret.When a young man turns up dead in an alleyway, killed by a mysterious new disease, Hale and Sharlet must unmask the forces behind the death and bring them to justice.With the fate of civilization in their hands and time slipping away, Hale and Sharlet must work together to solve a murder and stop the greatest crime in history. The game is on!(This is a sample of the full book, which is a genderbent sci-fi adaptation of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's 'The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.' The novel will be available for purchase on Amazon.com in various print and Kindle formats before next Friday. This work is copyrighted by Kewona Wolf. Any instances of theft, reprinting, reposting, or other unauthorized use without written permission of the author will be treated as copyright infringement.)





	1. Arrival on Earth

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! 
> 
> The full version of this novel is available on Amazon.com as a Kindle e-book, as well as a print paperback. I'm posting the first two chapters here as a sample for anyone interested in reading the full book, but not quite sure if they want to buy it. 
> 
> I would post the full novel here on AO3 because I want to share it with all you lovely fandom people, but unfortunately I am now An Adult(tm) and am expected to sell my writing for actual money. *sigh* That said, I really really hope you all enjoy these first couple chapters! <3
> 
> \- Kewona Wolf

**Chapter One:**

**Arrival on Earth**

_* * * * * *_

_Seattle, Northwestern Terra, Earth_

_January 7, 2085 A.D._

Behind closed eyelids, glass-cased bodies drift like ghosts over water. Their blank eyes reflect a smoky sky. White-clad workers push stretchers over piles of rubble, legless cots gliding eerily like disembodied spirits through the growing darkness. The workers radiate fear, rage, pain. I taste it on them, in them. Their faces are masked, but their turbulent emotions are not. They infect me, fill me up. I'm a glass full to brimming; it's a miracle I haven't spilled.

"Dr. Rivera?"

A gruff, familiar voice pulls me from my memories. I jerk my head up. Faking a yawn, I cover my mouth with a gloved hand. "Commander!" I mumble through my fingers. "You found me. I wasn't sure I'd been specific enough about the place."

Commander Pierce Wesweld returns my smile. He takes the seat beside me.

He's as handsome as the day I met him. Maybe more-so; the years have treated him well. His dark hair is short-cropped and silvering. His eyes, bright blue and ringed in black, are framed with laughter lines—there are more of those than I remember. "How have you been, Rivera?"

My proper name— _truename_ , we call it back on Anidoria—is June Hale. The Commander knows that, but he also knows enough about Anidorian culture not to use either one. On my home planet, first name intimacy is reserved for family and lovers. Although there was a time it would've been appropriate for Wesweld to use my truename, that time is long past.

I return his smile as best I can. Sitting up, I rub my eyes, feigning weariness. Truthfully, I'm wired. Back home, it's mid-morning. Five days spent on a shuttle running according to Terran Pacific Time has done nothing to reset my internal clock. There's no need to trouble the Commander with this knowledge, however. He's done more than enough by securing this job for me. I'd hate to give him more to worry over.

"I'm alright." It's not a lie. Not really. I just need a few days to acclimatize. "How've you been, Commander?"

He chuckles. The barmaid turns her head toward the sound. I remember this about him now: his laughter is infectious, a wildfire on a summer plain, spreading from table to table until the whole room is laughing with him. "I'm great, kiddo."

I close my eyes for a second. It's been five years since anyone called me that. I don't feel like a kid anymore. At twenty-eight, I'm not. Responsibility is a constant weight on my shoulders. I release my breath, and open my eyes.

"So." He slaps a hand emphatically on his beige-panted thigh. "Are you heading for the train tonight, or is there a chance you'd be up for dinner out?"

I shrug. "I'm up for anything. I'd love to see the city."

He stands, offers a smile. "Good, good. I can show you the sights, give you a tour of the place."

"That'd be wonderful." I stand as well, and we make our way out of the cafe. As we step into the freezing, thin air outside the cafe, I shove my hands deep into the pockets of my vest. I'm still in the uniform I wore to work back home at Artemis Station: an elegant red-and-white coat made in the style of British redcoats in the American Revolutionary War, all done up with gold buttons and hand-stitched straps. Tight-fitting synthetic white pants designed to reflect excess desert heat cover my legs, while heavy, gold-plated knee-high boots called "snake-zappers," used to electrocute the deadly serpents common on my home planet, weigh down my feet. Perfect attire for hot, sandy Anidoria, but not for the cold, wet weather that Earth's Pacific Northwest is famous for.

Commander Wesweld flags down a bolt cab. We pile into the back seat. The driver turns to look at us. She's young, with shadowed eyes and a slight frown. The smell of cinnamon gum hits me as she opens her mouth and asks where we're headed. I'm surprised there's a driver at all: I'd heard that Earth's cab services have switched over to autodrive vehicles in the last decade.

" _Diamond & Wilder's _Bar and Grill _."_ Commander Wesweld settles back, pulling a seat-belt across his chest. "Best bar in the city. Their spiced rum is to die for."

The bolt cab takes us deep into Seattle. I look out the window, through glass windows smeared with dirty rain, at grimy buildings towering into the sky. Thick gray spires disappearing into thicker, darker clouds.

"Storm's coming." The Commander's voice is the low rumble of distant thunder. "Won't want to be caught outside when it does."

I shrug. "I like storms. Back on Anidoria—"

"This isn't one of those little dust-twisters you have on Anidoria." My friend sighs. He shakes his graying head. "When rain falls on Earth, it's so acidic it eats through rock and wood. Even metal, if you give it long enough."

I bite my lip, watching the clouds gather with apprehension. "Why?"

He smiles sadly. "Pollution. Years and years of not cleaning up after ourselves."

I swallow. The city whirls by outside. I reach out. The glass separating me from the dirty rain seems suddenly too thin. What other dangers await me on this strange, alien planet?

When we arrive, _Diamond & Wilder's _is packed. People in casual attire are lined up down the sidewalk, laughing and huddling to avoid the rain. The sun has fully set, swallowed by distant mountains wreathed in smoky clouds. The shadows of towering skyscrapers fall on me as I step out of the bolt cab. I cover my head with both hands. My hair isn't in the greatest shape, but I'll be damned if I let it get any untidier. There'll be people in this bar. They're strangers, sure, and I shouldn't be so self-conscious. But I am.

Commander Wesweld follows me up the sidewalk. He glances over his shoulder as we reach the end of the line. I ask if he's expecting someone, but he shakes his head. "Can't be too careful." He sighs. "You never know when someone might sneak up on you. Even in the good parts of town."

I nod in agreement, though I never had to worry about such things back on Anidoria. There, the worst thing that could happen on an average day was being bitten by a rattlesnake. Which, while painful, was rarely deadly.

A few minutes pass in silence. At one point, Commander Wesweld pulls out a small, rectangular communications device. I watch his fingers dance across the screen like fireflies on still water as he texts.

"Who're you talking to?" I bring out my playfully-teasing tone. It's been a while since I dusted it off; the past few years haven't provided me with many friends. The Commander and I always had a comfortable relationship back when I worked with him, however, and it doesn't feel weird too weird to interact in this way. "Girlfriend? Date?"

He chuckles. "I'm married now. Didn't you know?"

I didn't. No doubt my expression tells him so. "When? How? Who? I want details!"

"Professor Nina McDallen." His face splits into a broad grin at my look of disbelief. " _Chief Ultimate_ McDallen, I should say. She got a promotion a few months back."

"What?" I blink rapidly. "McDallen's in charge of Republic now? How in the name of everything did that happen?"

He shrugs, still grinning. "God knows. Maybe she blackmailed someone higher up?" He chuckles fondly. The line shifts. We move forward a few feet. We're close enough now to the pub's entrance that the wafting aroma of grilled steak and booze leaks out, mixing with the musty perfumes of strangers. It's heady, and intoxicating. My head spins with it.

We reach the front of the line. One of the bouncers gives me a sweeping look. He's tall and handsome, with chestnut skin, chocolate eyes, and curly raven hair. He could be my brother, if I weren't an Anidorian GenAlt and he an Earthborn Natural (as far as I can tell.) He even has the same smile, and thick, heavy lashes. When he winks, they brush the crests of his cheeks. "If I'd seen you earlier, miss, I'd've let you in ahead of the rest." His voice is deep, throaty. His Adam's apple vibrates as he speaks. "We've always got room for ladies like you."

I try not to be flattered. It's been too long since anyone flirted with me; I'm out of practice. I'm left blushing and murmuring a quick, "Thanks." Commander Wesweld takes my arm and guides me inside.

The moment I pass through the doors, fresh, oxygen-rich air fills my mouth like painkillers injected after a gruesome injury. I inhale deeply, almost gasping aloud. I hadn't noticed before how thin and rancid the air outside is; now, I recall what my coworkers back at Artemis Station told me about Earth when I was first offered this job: that its cities, though functional, are the oldest and most run-down of the galaxy's human colonies. Industry and overpopulation have made a mess not only of the world's natural places, but of the air itself. No wonder the acclimatization pamphlets advise newcomers to carry an oxygen inhaler with them always.

Commander Wesweld finds a table for two a few paces from the bar. We sit. Out the window, the rain falls in heavy sheets. The streets are flooded. Bolt cabs and small, compact personal vehicles zoom by, throwing up waves of filthy gray water. The dank, oily scent of the city lingers in my recent memory. I wrinkle up my nose, and turn away.

The Commander shifts in his chair, the legs squeaking beneath his weight. He seizes a drinks menu, and scans it up and down. "Same old stuff." His voice is low, gravely. "Always think they might add something new. But they never do."

I sigh. "Anything you'd recommend?"

He shrugs his broad shoulders. "The 2067 Krave brew is good. Made on Mars. It's damn expensive, though."

I purse my lips, and pick up a menu. "Anything with an alcohol content under three percent?"

He laughs. "You think I drink the weak stuff? What planet have you been living on, kiddo?"

I smile. When I look up and meet his eyes, they twinkle playfully. "I try not to drink anything that'll slow me down mentally. I prefer control over relaxation."

"Somehow, that doesn't surprise me one bit." The Commander flags down a waitress. She approaches with a hospitable smile fixed on her neon-blue lips. "Hello, miss," he greets, "I'll have a pint of the 2067 Krave."

The waitress jots down his order. She turns to me. I can't help but stare at her vibrantly painted lips for a moment; in the dimness of the bar, they seem almost to glow. "And for you?"

"I'll have a small Anidorian whiskey on the rocks." I offer her my menu and a smile. She takes the menu, and returns the smile.

The Commander watches her walk away. Then he huffs, and shakes his head. "You should branch out, kid." His brows pinch together. "Take a chance. Try something new."

I avoid his gaze. Out the window, the rain is still falling in torrents. Wind whips it against the glass, smearing the window with wet grime. "I will. But I'm not quite ready to let go all at once. You know?"

He's silent. Thoughtfully silent. I inch my hand across the table until our fingers almost brush. The proximity allows me to more clearly gauge his mood: the heat radiating from his skin is like a fever in his blood. He's worked up over something... but what? It has to do with me, or else he would've already brought it up. I'm sure of it.

"What's up?" I try to phrase my question as casually as possible, while also making it clear what I'm really asking. "' _Why the long face,'_ as you Terrans would say?"

He chuckles, but there's no warmth in the sound. It's followed immediately by a soul-weary sigh. "The explosion at Artemis Station. You were there, weren't you? Last week."

My head jerks up to face him. His eyes are shadowed, lips pressed into a thin line. He's nervous. Unsure how I'll react. "Yeah." I hold his gaze until he looks away. "I was there. I wasn't hurt."

"What happened, exactly?"

I grit my teeth. My hands curl into fists on the table. "You've read the reports."

"Yeah, but those are just reports. I want to know what you saw."

I glare. Irrational anger rises in my chest, suffocating and hot. "Is this why you came to meet me? To question me before anyone else could sink their claws in?"

He shakes his head, having the good grace to look ashamed. "No, no, of course not! I'm worried about you, kid. About how this'll affect you. I didn't mean to upset you."

"Affect my ability to do my job, you mean." The words come out bitter, accusatory.

He frowns. Shame turns to irritation. "You know me better than that, Dr. Rivera. At least I'd hope so, after all the time we've spent together."

"It's been three years." I cross my arms. "Maybe you've changed."

He sighs exasperatedly. "You certainly haven't."

I study his expression for a long moment, then allow my anger to slip away. The waitress returns with our drinks. I take mine in both hands, reveling in the cold against my flushed skin. "Okay, fine." I lift the whiskey to my lips. It's sharp and smoky on my tongue; I close my eyes and focus on the taste as the liquid slips down my throat. It's familiar, warm. A little sip of home. "I was working in the East Wing when the first blast went off. I got lucky; I wasn't inside when it happened."

The table creaks as he leans in. "Why? Why weren't you inside?"

I open my eyes. Shake my head. "I just... got lucky, I guess. Took a break about five minutes before the explosion. I was out in the sand when the pulse went off." I don't tell him the truth: that a stranger in a combat suit and black mask pulled me from the building moments before the explosion. That if it weren't for her, I'd be dead. Another charred body on a drifting stretcher.

The crease between his eyebrows and the downward tilt of his mouth tell me he doesn't quite believe my story. Lifting his stein, he takes a deep swig of his beer. He sets it down with a dull _thunk._ "That's one helluva lucky turn, kid."

I lift an eyebrow. Shrug. "I guess. It's over now. I don't want to dwell on the past anymore."

"Sure, sure." He takes another long swallow of his drink, wiping his mouth on his deep gray-blue sleeve. He's in his Republic command uniform: either he's on his way to a fight, or he's just come from one.

I change the subject. "Hey, Commander. Do you have any idea where I'll be living at the University? I forgot to check. I was having a hard time finding a compatible companion who'd split costs on a double with me, and then I just... kinda forgot about it."

I feel rather than see the shift behind his eyes. In an instant, he goes from discomfort to amusement. He chuckles, shaking his silvering head. Folding his arms on the dented wooden table, he leans toward me. His breath is thick with alcohol. His eyes twinkle as he says, "I know just the girl for you, Doctor. If you're heading to the University tonight, I'll introduce you."

"Yeah, sure." I finish my whiskey in one swallow. I set the cup down with a dull _clank_. "Why the hell not?"


	2. Sharlet Knight

**Chapter Two:**

**Sharlet Knight**

* * * * * *

The bullet train to Republic University and Academy takes ten minutes from Seattle to the southern tip of Puget Sound. Built in the mid-2030s by Earth's first global government, the University was established as a means of recruiting those interested in teaching or practicing interplanetary law. It provided a physical base to work from as humanity spread across the stars. The Academy was built a few years later, when it became apparent that intellectual knowledge alone would not suffice. Hardened by years of combat training, field work, simulations, and drills, graduates of Republic Academy are expected not only to understand and teach the laws of mankind's many colonies, but to enforce them.

Commander Wesweld sits beside me. Like at _Diamond and Wilder's,_ he makes sure I get a window seat. I don't tell him how much I appreciate the gesture—I've never been one for sealed spaces.

"So, kiddo." He clasps his hands on his lap. Tipping his seat back, he straps himself in for the high-speed ride. "Before you meet your prospective roommate, I need to warn you: she's not perfect."

I lean on my elbow, staring out the window. It's dark outside. The distant mountains across the Sound are touched gold by the rising moon. "So? No one is."

He sighs. " _'Not perfect'_ is putting it mildly."

"What's wrong with her?" I lift an eyebrow. "Does she leave dirty laundry lying around? Forget to vacuum? Listen to shitty music? All of the above?"

He's silent for a long moment. I glance at him. His discomfort is written in the creases of his face, the thin line of his mouth. "Worse than that. She's a bit... out there, I guess you could say."

"How so?"

He shrugs. His discomfort grows. It's palpable in the air between us, writhing like a wounded snake. "I guess you'll have to see for yourself. There's no way to explain her without making her sound better or worse than she is."

"Oh come on, Commander. I bet you could do her justice."

He shoots me a small smile. "Between the two of us, Rivera, I'm not the one who's good at telling stories."

I feign indignation. "Your official reports are wonderful! Some of them could be poetry, if you called them that."

He chuckles, shaking his head. "Anything is poetry if you call it that."

I laugh along with him. "Oh, that's not true. Not anything."

After that, the conversation dies out. We sit together in comfortable, companionable silence for the remainder of the ride.

. . . . . .

We arrive at University Station at 11:30 PM. The distant hum of aircraft taking off and landing follows me off the bullet train, through the hallways of the station, and onto the strip of lawn separating the Station from the University. Commander Pierce Wesweld walks beside me. He offers a reassuring smile as we approach the nearest building, a great white spiral of metal reaching up toward the starless sky. "Thirty-five stories." He points at the distant sprout of trees rising above the topmost courtyard's rail. "That's where the head of the Botany Department lives." He points a little lower. "And that's where we're headed. The BioLabs. If I'm right, Cadet Knight—your new roommate, if everything goes well—will be there right now."

I raise my eyebrows, and glance at my watch. "It's almost midnight."

He shakes his head. "Doesn't matter. This girl works whenever she feels like it."

"How do you know she feels like it tonight?"

He grins, and points to the only lit window in the building. Even through the thick, tinted glass, a faint yellow glow is visible. "That's BioLab-13. Her favorite late-night study spot. The Science Spires are the only buildings open past midnight; I can always count on her being here after eleven."

We reach the enormous, spiraling tower. A sign beside the walkway says, ' _Sciences'._ The Commander slides his palm across a raised panel to the left of the doors. With a soft _beep,_ the doors slide sideways into the walls.

My companion leads me through hallways lit by sterile white lights, past thick metal doors, on and on until I begin to wonder if he knows where he's going at all. When we reach the top of our seventh flight of stairs, he turns to me with an apologetic smile. "Almost there, kiddo."

I force a smile in return, heaving a deep breath. It whistles out between clenched teeth and cracked lips.

Our destination lies beyond a solid steel door. A plaque in the center reads _BioLab 13._ Commander Westweld draws his hand over the scanner to the left of the door, activating the ID chip embedded in his palm. The door slides sideways into the wall.

BioLab 13 is a dimly-lit circular room. The far half of the wall is a thick, curved glass windows, while the other is lined with shelves, sinks, desks. An ovular island counter rises from the center of the room. Its surface is cluttered with vials of strangely colored liquids, microscopes, boxes of what appear to be rocks and dirt, papers stacked in high, leaning towers.

But despite the many strange and unusual items and furnishings in the room, the oddest by far is the girl half-slumped over the sink, carefully pouring a thick vial of red goo into a tray of clear liquid. As the thick, viscous scarlet mixes with the clear, thin substance, a high hissing rises from the tray. It is accompanied by the smell of iron and burning rubber.

"Hello?" The Commander raps sharply on the wall inside the door. "Hope I'm not disturbing you, Cadet Knight."

Cadet Knight straightens up. She spares the quickest of glances for me and my escort. Her eyes, a bright, intense silver-blue, flash from my face to my chest, then down to my booted feet. "Perfect." She grins broadly. "Do you mind holding something for me, Hale?"

I glance at Pierce, shocked at being recognized, and even more astonished at being addressed by my first name. He shrugs, his mouth twisting up into an expression of bemusement. I return my attention to the student at the sink. "How do you know my name?"

"You're my new roommate, aren't you?" Her expression softens into a warm, cordial smile. Her deep olive skin has a golden hue in the soft, ambient light of the lab. Her lips are a shade of muted pink. Her short, messy hair, obviously dyed, is a stunning blue-white, like a thin sheet of glacial ice lit from behind. She's wearing an inside-out gray bathrobe fastened around her waist by a leather belt. Her feet are bare. Beside her on the counter is a supply of goldfish crackers in a zip-lock plastic bag. Beside that is a rectangular communications device that looks like something out of an early twenty-first century film. "Dr. Hale Rivera, formerly stationed on—" the girl holds the half-drained vial of red aloft in one hand, her eyes flickering across my body again, "—Anidoria. If I had to guess, I'd say you worked for the Republic Interplanetary Conflict Division. Thankfully, I don't have to guess."

I turn to Commander Wesweld, who sighs heavily and shakes his head. "I know what you're going to ask, Dr. Rivera. I have no idea how she figured any of that out."

Irritated and bemused, I watch Cadet Knight resume pouring the red liquid into the clear tray. "Did you hack my files?" My tone is sharp, accusatory. "You did, didn't you? That information wasn't public knowledge." I put my hands on my hips, glaring openly. Privacy is something I value highly. If this girl has already betrayed my trust in such a significant way...

The cadet laughs, shaking her head. "Come here and hold this for me." She slides the clear tray across the counter toward me. The liquid inside is now thick and black. "Tell me if it's heavy."

Again, I look to the Commander for help. He shrugs, still half-smiling, and gestures toward the tray. "You may as well help. If only to keep her from blowing up the labs." He laughs, then sighs in a way that suggests this is a real possibility.

With a deep sigh of my own, I approach Cadet Knight. "Fine." I pick up the tray. It's surprisingly heavy—heavier than I expected. I hold it carefully in the flats of both palms, hefting it. The liquid inside splashes against the container's clear plastic sides. It leaves faint, dark-red stains. "It's very heavy, yes. So what, cadet?"

"Sharlet."

"What?"

She looks up, smiling that warm smile again. "My name. It's Sharlet, not _cadet."_

"Your _first_ name, yes." I set down the tray. "I'm a professor at this establishment. Therefore, I call you 'cadet.'" I try to keep my tone even and professional. But there's something about her that puts me on edge. It's the way she moves, maybe—like a wolf through thick snow, graceful yet full of suppressed energy and predatory determination. "Problem?"

"Uh, yeah." Her tone is teasing. "We're going to be roommates, not student and teacher. Yes, I'm a student, and yes, you're a teacher. But if we're gonna live together, we shouldn't have to be as formal as those stick-up-the-ass officials down in the Main Office."

I blink rapidly a few times, processing this. Crossing my arms, I inhale deeply, grounding myself. _"Formality is the solder that holds—"_

She cuts me off, speaking so fast that the words blur together. _"—a nation together through war and peace, sickness and health, like soldiers on time's battlefield. –_ Our very own Professor Mason Bischoff, 2056." Setting the vial, still stained with red, in the sink, she wipes her hands on the front of her bathrobe. She steps toward me. "I've been here at Republic University since I was sixteen years old, Hale. That's eight years. I know what the institution thinks of formality. And you know what _I_ think? I think formality can go—"

"Cadet Knight." Commander Wesweld clears his throat loudly, cutting her off. I glance at him. He's still standing by the doorway, arms crossed and lips curved into a half-frown. He looks right past me at the cadet. His gaze is stern. "What exactly are you doing in the labs at this hour?"

Cadet Knight's face lights up. The mischievous glint in her eyes becomes manic. "That's _sugar!_ I was waiting for you to ask."

I raise an eyebrow. "What's sugar?" I glance down at the dark liquid in the heavy tray. I point. "In there?"

Cadet Knight laughs, shaking her head. A strand of light hair falls across her tan forehead. "It's an expression. Means something's good. Like sugar."

"I've never had sugar," I admit. "Not in its refined form, at least. No candy allowed, where I come from."

Sharlet gives me an incredulous look. "Never? Wow. I'll have to remedy that." Before I can reply, she turns back to the sink. Holding up the red-stained vial, she shakes it at the Commander. "This is blood. The clear tray is rubbing alcohol."

The Commander raises his eyebrows. "I'm assuming you've made some grand new discovery that you're dying to show off?"

Sharlet sighs. She seems to deflate at the inquiry. "Not yet. I haven't figured out yet what's making it react like that. It's congealing almost immediately on contact with concentrated alcohol, but I can't figure out _why._ Trying to science when I'm tired is a no-go. But you already knew that." Her mischievous grin is back in place. "That's why you brought her." Those sea-foam eyes flick back to me. For a moment, anxiety fills her gaze. An echo of doubt hovers in the air between us. When she speaks again, it's in a subdued tone. "Let's hope this isn't a complete disaster, like all the others."

Commander Wesweld's gaze grows shadowed. "Speaking of complete disasters." He looks over his shoulder, down the hallway. "I need to speak with Chief Ultimate McDallen about my next assignment. She's expecting me at her office in five minutes."

I try to read Cadet Knight's reaction from her expression. I'm a bit uncomfortable being left alone with her—we've only just met, after all, and she's a bit eccentric for my tastes. She turns away at the Commander's words, returning to the tray and its dark contents. "Make sure to get the door on your way out." She makes a motion like swatting an invisible bug. "Sometimes fumes from the other labs screw with my experiments."

"Don't worry; I will."

Once the Commander is gone, I let out my breath in a huff. "Cadet Knight—"

"Sharlet."

"I already explained—"

"Roommates." The light-haired girl straightens up and fixes me with a look verging on contemptuous. "I'm not in your class, _professor._ Don't treat me like one of your students."

I open my mouth to reply. Then, deciding it's hopeless, I change the subject. "I'm going to move into our apartment now. Is that okay?"

"Sure. 'Course. Why wouldn't it be?" Sharlet's attention is back on her experiment. She swirls the liquid in the tray, frowning slightly at its viscous movement. She makes a note on a sheet of electronic paper. "Warning: you might have to move some things around."

I raise my eyebrows. "What, to get inside the room?"

"Not quite. To get to your bed."

"Oh. Why, exactly?"

Sharlet answers with a shrug. "Reasons. Oh, and careful not to break anything. I've got some treasures stashed away in there."

I sigh loudly. "Didn't you think about moving your crap _before_ I arrived?"

Another halfhearted shrug. "Thought about it."

"And then consciously decided to do nothing and let me suffer instead?"

Her head comes up, and she laughs. The sound is clear and sparkling. Her eyes are light with amusement. "You're dramatic. I love it."

I'm caught off guard by her reaction. I was aiming for pissed-off and unapproachable, and somehow managed to endear myself to her. A headache brought on by interplanetary jet-lag is killing me slowly; it's now fifteen hours past my bedtime, and my messed-up sleep schedule is finally catching up to me. Midnight here in Seattle means it's approaching mid-morning back at Artemis Station. While I was wired earlier this evening, I'm exhausted now.

Sharlet sets down the digi-notepad and gives me her full attention. She leans against the counter. Her expression is caught between curiosity and amusement. Her lips curve into a soft half-smile. "Alright, how 'bout this: let's play Full Disclosure." Her voice pierces the still quiet of the sealed lab. "Best way to get to know each other." She hesitates. "I'll go first. Full disclosure: I'm a complete nightmare to live with. I do weird shit all the time. I leave half-finished experiments lying around any space I'm allowed to be in for more than a few hours. I never sleep, and prefer to work at night. I listen to loud music. I play guitar, sometimes in the middle of the night. I sing. I'm a terrible singer." She chuckles. "How about you?"

I stare at her for a long moment. I shrug. "I like to sing, too."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I'm good."

"And?"

"And what?"

"We're playing Full Disclosure." She spreads her hands expectantly. "It only works if we're both totally honest. I told you the worst of me. What's the worst of you?"

I frown. "You read my private files, didn't you? You already know the answer to that."

She lifts an eyebrow. "You're assuming that's how I know what I know about you."

I glare, suddenly furious. "Well how else?"

Her answering smile is sly. "Wouldn't you love to know?" She turns back to her experiment. "Doesn't matter if you tell me about your vices or not, Hale." She reaches for a tube of white powder. She adds a tiny dab to her dark concoction. It fizzes, and pales slightly. "I've got you all figured out."

"Oh, do you?" I force the words past clenched teeth. "I'd bet every trin in my possession that's not true."

"You'd lose your money." In the tray, the dark liquid separates into two layers: a thick, viscous, red-brown bottom layer, and a light-gray, thin top layer. Sharlet grins. "Every last trin and signit."

"Fine. Whatever you say." Frustrated and too tired to argue further, I turn on my heel and stalk out of BioLab-13. "A good evening to you, Cadet Knight." As the door slides shut behind me, the soft sound of her laughter follows me down the hall. It echoes through my mind long after I've left her far behind.


End file.
